between the shadow and the soul
by il-sole-le-stelle
Summary: A collection of Alec x Clary drabbles and short fics, some written for Tumblr memes, and some for my fellow Fraywood shippers.
1. Victory

He has her pinned to the floor, the weight of him pressing down on her. They had been sparring earlier on, with Clary managing to evade his attacks with a short dagger until he surprised her by grabbing her waist. It was mostly her fault that they had fallen to the floor as she had tripped over his feet.

Throwing the dagger away, he smiles down at her. She looks up at him, a little breathless, not sure whether it is from the sparring or the close proximity- how his face is only inches away from hers.

"Do you yield?" he asks.

"No." She sticks out her tongue at him, and at the same tries to wriggle out of his grasp. He exerts more of his weight of her, effectively nullifying her efforts to move any further.

"That's too bad." He laughs.

"Just you wait, Alec Lightwood. I'll get back at you somehow."

Wrapping his finger around a loose curl that had escaped her ponytail, he asks her, "And how would you do that?"

She smiles at him sweetly and presses her lips to his. He is caught by surprise and she takes the opportunity to push with all her strength, both of them rolling over on their sides. She pulls away, her lips lingering. Now, she is straddling him, her elbows pressing down on his chest.

"Do you yield?" she repeats his very first question.

"Damn, you don't play fair, Clary."

"I win." She smirks and he pulls her down to him, closing the remaining gap between the two of them.


	2. Stars

That night, both of them were in Central Park, lying on their backs on the grass and looking up at the sky.

"My mother used to bring me here when I was a kid," she told him. "And we used to point out the different constellations in the sky. There, you can see the Big Dipper."

"I've never done this before. These stars, don't you think they seem to be winking at us? Like how small and insignificant we are to them, when they are high up in the heavens?"

"I don't think of it this way, Alec. We aren't insignificant. It's just that there are things out there that are far greater than us combined."

He kept silent, as if contemplating the words she had just said. She touched his arm lightly, waking him from his reverie. "And then there's Orion, see the three stars that make up his belt?"

Turning to look at her, the moonlight illuminating half of his face, he asked her, "Do people name stars?"

"Yeah, I guess they do."

"Then, do you see that one there?" He pointed to a star that was shining brighter than most others. "That's the one I'll name after you."

She laced her fingers in his and pressed her lips to his hand. "I love it. Thank you."


	3. Handwritten Letters

It was the time of the day she usually looked forward to- the time right after the mailman left once he delivered her letters. Not wanting to seem overly eager or anything, she had always restrained herself from running down the short flight of stairs to the mailbox when she saw the mailman walking down her street.

Alec was unusually old-fashioned. He preferred to write letters and mail them to her, instead of sending emails. There were occasional ones from him, with photos attached, but other than that, his letters would always arrive at the end of every week. Tearing the top of the envelope carefully, she took out his letter and read:

_Clary,_

_Portugal's lovely. I think you would love the beaches, with the sun and sand. I imagine you at the back of my mind, drawing with sticks in the sand, or even building sandcastles. And I would be behind you, my fingers laced with the fingers of your free hand, telling you a joke or attempting to make up a story to describe what you've drawn. The sea breeze would blow your hair in all directions, but you wouldn't wear it up because you like the feel of the wind in your hair. Also because I like how your hair looks when you let it down. We'll be laughing, and falling onto the sand and kissing, and watching the sunset together._

_Wish you were here. __I'll bring you here someday, definitely._

_Miss you._

_Alec_


	4. conspire to ignite

When Alec and Clary kiss, sparks fly and the world explodes into a myriad of colours. Reds, blues, yellows and greens and everything in between. Almost like a starburst. The slight pressure of his lips on hers, the feel of his calloused hands on her waist through her thin blouse and the fevered whisper of her name on his lips, the hint of citrus on her skin, it is a perfect symphony of all their senses. It is a simple kiss, but sometimes the simpler things are, the more they convey. His hands are always buried in her hair, brushing the curls that she finds unruly. But if he likes her hair that way, then perhaps she will leave it as it is, she thinks.

She loves how a single touch from him seems to ignite all her nerve endings such that they would be tingling in pleasure and anticipation, because he always surprises her. He would start with brushing her lips with his fingers, slowly and agonizingly, then at times he would move down to her neck and to her sides, but there are times when he lets his mouth do the work, his tongue brushing her jaw, his teeth nibbling on her ear lobe and his lips laying butterfly kisses along her neck. It drives her crazy and he would take his own sweet time, as if watching her shiver in his arms is equally pleasurable for him. _It is_, he wants to tell her so many times. But it's his secret. The knowledge that he could give her pleasure just with his touch is something he has never expected. They are both learning, finding ways to give and take.

He loves the way she sighs into his mouth and how bold she can be sometimes. The way she trails her fingers down his chest and his back, along his spine, causes him to lose his sense of reality. It is disorienting, yet mind-blowing. Each time she parts her lips for her, he would take them greedily, biting her bottom lip and eliciting a moan from her into his mouth. He loves how her lips feel against his, how he would crave their absence. It is absolutely ridiculous, but he cannot help feeling that way. Each time he pulls away from her after a kiss, it is only his mouth that is away from her. His body is still flush against hers, leaving almost no gap between them; his hands are on her face, touching, caressing and memorizing every single detail- the shape of her lips, the curve of her nose, the contours of her eyes and everything else that he can commit to his memory.

* * *

When they make love for the second time, with no sex runes and all, it is unplanned. At first, it has never crossed Alec's mind to do so. All he wants is to curl up with her in his arms and fall asleep, she being the last person he would see.

Now, just as he opens the door to her room, she steps out from the bathroom, hair no longer damp (she has probably used the hairdryer), her mouth forming a small 'o' when she sees him. He takes the sight of her in, his gaze on her face first, as she blushes, before roaming down the length of her body, lingering at the areas where her curves are evident. He wants to look away, but he can't tear his eyes away from her. Neither can he stop how his body is responding towards her barely clad form.

Before she can react or even grab some clothes, he crosses the room and pulls her towards him. His mouth comes crashing down on hers; his hands skim the sides of her body. They back towards the wall, the hard surface against her back and he is pressed against her. She likes how he feels against her, tightly corded muscles against her softer body. His hands pause at the place where she has tucked one end of the towel and he is about to undress her before she stops him, insisting, "No, you first."

Groaning in frustration, he pulls away and looks at her, hoping that she will change her mind. She shakes her head, as if she knows what he is thinking, and lets her hands wander across his chest, a trail burning through the fabric of his shirt, before tugging on the hem of his shirt. He pulls it off before resuming to kiss her senseless again.

She lets her hand dip into the waistband of his pants, lingering at the skin beneath. The touch of her fingertips is torturous, as she brushes his already warm skin slowly and deliberately for several circuits before moving farther down, dangerously close to where he is already straining in his pants. "Damn, Clary," he manages to choke out as she moves her hand back up and slides whatever he is left wearing down his legs. She steps between them as close as she can. It is hardly fair that she is still wearing her towel, and he isn't wearing anything.

She isn't prepared for the sight of his naked body, because it is the first time. But she thinks it is probably as disorienting for him as it is for her.

So she smiles at him, letting her fingers trace a path upwards, along the hard lines of his pectoral muscles. He takes a sharp intake of breath as she presses her lips to his bare skin, letting her teeth catch on the skin of his chest. His hands find the hem of her towel, where it ends just at the middle of her thigh. His fingers caress the inside of her thigh, his touches as light as the softest kiss one can manage, and he feels her tremble against him.

He continues touching and caressing his way up, as he gently coaxes her legs apart. And then his fingers are on her. It is the first time he is doing something as bold as this with her. At first he slides one finger in, waiting for her response. She doesn't say anything, neither does she stop him. He strokes, the first time tentatively, the second with slightly more confidence and her hand comes to circle his wrist.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks, and she shakes her head. He slides another finger in, and with a few more strokes, he has her gasping and moaning. Heat burns through her slowly, growing, compounding and increasing in intensity before engulfing her completely. She lets it overwhelm her, lets her eyes close as his fingers stroke with the same languidness as before. And then her mouth opens into a silent scream.

Slowly it subsides; as it does, her knees buckle and she would have fallen if not for the support behind her. He steadies her first before pulling off the towel with his free hand, throwing it to one side of the room. This time, he doesn't have to touch her to make her shiver; the look in his eyes is enough- the way he appraises her with his gaze.

Finally, he removes his fingers and hoists her up against the desk. She has barely enough time to feel the absence of him in her. With one smooth movement, he presses into her. _He is getting better at this_, she thinks. Her hips shift to fit him better, her legs wrapping around his waist. They find their rhythm, a comfortable one. He feels her tighten and clench before he withdraws slowly and pushes in over and over again. The friction of him sliding into her again and again causes her to shudder. She moves slightly, unintentional, eliciting a moan from him.

He tries to start a quicker pace, and she lets him, that way they would both learn. She matches his rhythm, perfectly in sync, as that feeling of an all-consuming blaze finds her again, this time starting out faster and with more intensity. He is close, he can feel it. The feeling of pleasure which never seems to cease takes over his senses and fills his entire body, building up with each thrust he gives.

And then, it all ignites and they fall over the edge together.


	5. not a single moment

**lips;**  
They don't show their affections for each other outright - just a touch on the elbow, on the lower back, on the wrist. A kiss sneaked in the shadows of alcoves, to the cheek, to the temple, and finally to the lips. She smiles against his mouth, and he sighs in contentment.

The rest of the world doesn't need to know of their love, it's enough that they do.

**cumulation;**  
It's difficult to pinpoint the exact moment someone falls in love. Falling in love, unlike what most people believe, is more like an accumulation of several moments, several points in time. Alec knows he did not fall for Clary at first. She slowly grew on him as he got to know her. He cannot quite imagine how he could love her at first sight, without knowing her personality, her quirks, her interests and most of all, her capacity to love him for who he is. One cannot tell all these just from one look, one smile, or even one touch.

It is all these moments that make him treasure her, and their love even more.

**quiet;**  
She is wrapped in his arms, her head on his chest, their legs tangled together and their fingers laced in each other's. It's the period right after lovemaking that she appreciates- the sound of his heartbeat against her ears, every inch of her body is pressed against his that she cannot tell where it begins and where it ends, the scent of their passion lingering in the air and that tenderness in his touch as he traces a path from her face to her hips. His breath slows and evens as he spoons her closer to him before he falls asleep.

**armour; **  
Alec never fails to amaze her with his archery skills. That firm stance and sure aim with which he fires the arrows into the demons they hunt. It's almost as if she could see herself as a damsel in distress with a knight in shining armour to her rescue. But she doesn't like, neither does he. He sees them as equals, and sometimes he confesses to her that he often wishes he was as brave as her. That was the one thing that drew him to her- how she would do anything for the people she loves. And she tells him, _I have enough bravery for the two of us and no one is brave all the time.  
_

**drug;**  
Their mouths crash as he enters her, her nails scratching a trail down his back. He withdraws and pushes in again and again, establishing a rhythm comfortable to them. His hands roam her body, a touch so gentle, yet with some sort of urgency, as if trying to memorise every single freckle, every single feature of her body. She moves her mouth to the indentation above his collarbone and sucks that spot, drawing a gasp from him. She knows he likes it when she does that. He pushes in even further and feels her tightening against him. Her body arches as her release comes. She cries out, and pulls him closer to her. It is not before long that he feels it, and lets himself fall, the only thing on his mind is how right they feel, joined together.

**muse;**  
He finds her sketchbook lying open on her desk one day. He does not mean to pry, but he flips through the book, filled with sketches of runes, the residents of the Institute, and then he sees pages filled with drawings of him. The likeness is uncanny, for she has captured the look of concentration in his eyes when he spars with Jace or Isabelle and the love in his eyes when he looks at her.

She walks up to him, her arms around him as she leans into his back. _You are my muse, _she tells him, _I find myself drawing you each time I think of you. _

**fly;**  
Being in love with her is like flying with the wind, the rush of feelings that comes when she smiles at him, the sensation of his heart bursting when she is in his arms. Even though the Nephilim never inherited the gift of flying from the angels, he feels as if he has by being in love with her and her reciprocating his love.

Each time she looks into his blue eyes, she feels as if she is falling and then the wind catches her, like how his gaze disorients her for a while before anchoring her back to reality.

**ghosts;**  
Alec has nightmares. Too many deaths they have seen, and each of them cuts into his soul as if he was personally responsible. She doesn't know how else to comfort him, other than holding him in his arms as he thrashes in his sleep, battling with the ghosts of their past. The world they live in has changed so much after the Great War that sometimes she doesn't recognise the girl in the mirror- the face of a girl hardened by war, suffering and bloodshed. She has her own nightmares too, but tonight they are not important.

**scar;**  
Alec likes the feel of Clary's fingertips on the scars of battle. Her artistic side treats them as stories and memories, and not imperfection. He has stopped being self-conscious about them. Only she has seen him this vulnerable, this bare and has accepted him for who he is, scarred or not.

She points to a scar just below his rib and traces the puckered line. He tells her about the first time his hand slipped during training and cut himself when he was 12. She laughs and he shoots her an almost embarrassed look, but that look disappears as soon as she places her lips on them. And then she kisses a path up his chest and ends at his lips.

**touch;**  
Possessiveness isn't the reason why Alec places his hand on Clary's lower back, or lets his touch linger on her longer than he intends to. It's silly to think that your touch means you're hers and she's yours. None of you owns the other person, you are your own person. His hand on her only says that he cannot imagine how else to be with her, to tell her that she means the world to him. Love is selfish only in that you love the other person more than anyone else, even more than yourself.


End file.
